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High-futh'd with wealth, and Freedom's smile : To vaffals prison'd in the Continent,
Who starve, at home, on meager toil,
And suck to death their mother foil,
And wound the soul ; bow Genius down,
To throw them at a monster's foot ?
'Tis property supports pursuit : Freedom gives eloquence; and Freedom, gain.
She pours the thought, and forms the style,
She makes the blood and spirits boil;
In Theban song: 0 Muse! not thine,
Verse is gay Freedom's gift divine :
traffick if they please ;
reap the growth of every coast :
VII, Britain !
Britain ! behold the world's wide face;
Nor cover'd half with solid space, Three parts are fiuid; empire of the sea !
And why? for Commerce. Ocean streams
For that, through all his various names : And, if for Commerce, Ocean flows for Thee,
Britain, like some great potentate
Of Eastern clime, retires in state, Shuts out the nations ! Would a Prince draw nigh?
He passes her strong guards, the waves,
Of servant winds admission craves, Her empire has no neighbour but the sky.
There are her friends; soft Zephyr there,
Keen Eurus, Notus never fair,
for her, their various toil; The Caspian, the broad Baltick boil, And into life the dead Pacifick scourge.
A golden hoft! and azure plain!
They may retreat, but not from her;
The star that quits this hemisphere Muit quit the skies, to want a British ficet.
For her, Orion's glories burn,
The fair-fac'd sons of Mazaroth,
Near the deep chambers of the South,
All intimate with him alone.
To the vast volume's closing star;
Decypher'd every character :
Smile at our rock and barren strand,
Vast tracts and ample beings vaunt;
The camel low, fmall elephantO Britain ! the Leviathan is thine.
Brought forth, her largest piece of life;
Dreadful Leviathan ! thy spout
Invades the skies; the stars are out : He drinks a river, and ejects a storm.
German and Caledonian roar;
Hear Egbert, Edgar, Ethelred;
" The feas are ours.”—The monarch said The floods their hands, their hands the nations, clap.
Can he be found beneath the skies?
The powers of earth, by rival aim
Her grandeur but the more proclaim;
Her foot ambitious Ocean laves :
'Twixt Venice and Britannia's ille !
'Twixt mortal and immortal toil! Britannia is a Venice built by Gods.
But not o'er friends by whom she rose ;
It were no less than parricide
What wonders rise from out the tide! Her High and Mighty to the rudder bend.
Who think trade mean, and scorn to bow
Alas! these chiefs but little know
Commerce how high, themselves how low;
But reap her fruits, and warm pursue
High Commerce from the Gods came down,
With compass, chart, and starry crown,
From forty crowns, his mighty brow
That arm, which swept the bloody field,
See! the huge axe, or hammer, wield;
Matchless example to the crown !
Ye drones! adore the man divine
No; Virtue still as mean decline,